


The Terror ficlets

by MildredMost



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Age of Sail, Drug Use, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mental Health Issues, Rimming, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/pseuds/MildredMost
Summary: Short fics from the 100 words threads on FFA1: 100 words of being hurt & comforted by the same person2: 100 Words of Unwanted Feelings3: 100 words of rimming4: 100 words of drugging your love interest5: 100 words of unlikely rescues6: 100 words of spooning





	1. 100 words of being hurt & comforted by the same person

Goodsir threw a thick blanket around Mr Collins and ushering him to the surgeon’s room. He sat him down quickly, calling for a boy to fetch Mr Collins clothes and hot water from the mess. Collins was shuddering from the cold and shock of the treatment Dr Stanley had insisted Goodsir apply. Goodsir fell to rubbing some warmth back into his limbs with his hands. It had been truly hideous, holding Collins down in that ice bath while he struggled in pain, and Dr Stanley looked on as though he was no more than an unwanted cat to be drowned. 

“I’d rather be mad than this,” Mr Collins said desperately. “To be treated like an animal. I’d rather stay insane.” 

“You are not mad, Mr Collins. You are not insane,” Goodsir said, stopping his scrubbing and grabbing Mr Collins’ hands tightly. “The mind is a part of your body like any other and it can become hurt by a bad shock, just as you have had. But it can heal too. I promise you.”

“You advise me to persist with this treatment then,” Collins said, and Goodsir could see the fear in his dark eyes. 

“Good God, no,” Goodsir said. “I would never suggest anything so barbaric.”

“I shall do it if you advise it Mr Goodsir,” Collins said. “I-I have the utmost respect for you.”

“I only applied this treatment under instruction from Dr Stanley. And I regret that I did,” Goodsir said. Mr Collins seemed to relax a little at that. 

“Here, let me help you,” Goodsir said. 

Mr Collins had stopped his terrible shaking, and Goodsir began to help him dress in warm, dry layers of wool, until at last he helped him into that thick wool sweater that suited him so very well. Mr Collins cheeks were rosy with warmth once more, though his expression was still troubled. Goodsir sat down beside him. 

“I have a belief that your trouble could be eased in a different way,” he said. “If you came to me and we talked of it a little. Or talked of other things, if you do not feel able for that. But talking I believe could have a great benefit. Do you think...can I prevail on you for a little of your company? When you are not busy with other things of course.”

Goodsir waited for Collins to respond, hoping he had not seemed too eager. Collins was silent for a few moments, his dark eyes fathoms deep. Then he spoke. 

“Only to talk?” he said quietly. Goodsir began to assure him that yes of course only talking would be required, when Mr Collins reached out and took his hand. 

With his heart wildly leaping, Goodsir shook his head. Mr Collins gave a small smile. 

“My name is Harry,” said Goodsir. 

“Henry,” Mr Collins said, and inclining his head, pressed a brief, soft kiss to Goodsir’s mouth.


	2. 100 Words of Unwanted Feelings

Goodsir hadn’t realised that he could want someone like Mr Collins. He’d had some confused idea, when he’d begun to realise his own nature, that he was supposed to find slighter, more feminine men attractive. But what he liked the most it seemed, was a man built like a brick wall and with a pelt of hair on his chest that could rival a bear. And even more unlikely, that Collins would want an awkward, unremarkable man like Goodsir back. 

But he did. 

Goodsir loved to tangle his fingers in the silk of Henry’s chest hair and brush his thumbs over the hard nipples, to bury his face into the smell of the man. And Henry loved the slightness of Goodsir’s waist, liked to wrap his hands around it and lift Harry up as though he weighed nothing at all. They knew each other’s bodies intimately now, learning over months of snatched moments how to set the other gasping in the least amount of time. Goodsir liked to be laid down and fucked; Collins liked to fuck hard and kiss while he did it. Goodsir hadn’t ever kissed a man before Henry. All wrong of course, and under the eye of God too - but Goodsir could not put the ways Henry made him feel together with punishment and floggings, dirtiness and sin. 

But tonight his dear Henry was suffering from those dark feelings which intruded upon him more often these days than he cared to admit. On these nights he would come silently to Goodsir’s cabin and sit by him at his desk. On seeing the pain in Henry’s dark eyes, Goodsir would give him a precious, tiny dose of coca wine to quiet his mind. Then he would take Henry’s great warm hand tightly, and read to him of Arctic flora and fauna until the dear man’s heart beat slow and steady again. 

“Thank you Harry, my dear,” Collins said, lifting their joint hands and kissing Goodsir’s knuckles. Goodsir smiled his shy smile and continued to read.


	3. 100 words of rimming

“Christ, your arse,” Collins said appreciatively as he tugged Goodsir’s trousers down to mid thigh. Goodsir felt himself flush up like a maid at this rough compliment, and was glad that Henry couldn’t see his face as he leant over the table. 

“I have um, oil...oil of castor…” he said hesitantly. 

“Can’t bear the taste,” Collins said, his hands firm on Goodsir’s backside. 

“I meant it for…” Goodsir reached behind himself, touching the place he couldn’t quite name. And he an anatomist. 

“Yes,” Collins said, a hint of affectionate laughter in his voice. “And I said I can’t bear the taste.”

“What…” Goodsir began but became speechless as Henry nosed at the cleft of his buttocks. He dropped a kiss there, then taking firm hold of Goodsir, he licked a stripe down the crack of his arse. 

Goodsir cried out in shock and Collins hushed him in amused tones. But this could not be something men did to one another? He tried to turn, to ask, but Henry had hold of him tight, and gently but firmly held him there as he lowered his mouth once more and flicked his tongue across the sensitive skin of Goodsir’s hole. 

Goodsir made an indescribable noise, his legs beginning to tremble. Collins licked again at that most tender place, and then again. It was too much. Too intimate, too wicked. Goodsir jerked half upright and tried to move away. Collins stopped his licking and instead pressed kisses from Goodsir’s tailbone up to the nape of his neck, the scratch of his hair setting Goodsir’s nerves alight. He moaned. Collins traced his calloused fingers back down the notches of Goodsir’s spine and stroked circles at its base. 

“It’s alright Harry,” he murmured. “Let me. You’ll like it.”

Collins stroked Goodsir’s flanks, gentling him and then spread his arse with his great, strong hands. 

Goodsir gave into it. 

Collins licked him there again and again, seeming oblivious to Goodsir’s gasps and squirms. He found himself trying to spread his legs further, constricted as they were by his trousers, even as he buried his face in his hands to muffle the desperate sounds he was making. Collins licked faster, harder and Goodsir wanted to push back into it and twist away from the intensity at the same time. 

And then oh God, Collins' tongue was inside, pressing inwards past the muscle and flickering wet and firm within him. Goodsir moaned, his breath coming in hard sobbing gasps as Collins worked him relentlessly. His every nerve seemed to be ablaze. His legs trembled in earnest now; he had his fist in his mouth to quiet himself and the other hand gripped the edge of the table for dear life and still he felt as though he might collapse. Collins was alternately flicking his hard tongue inside him sending sparks through his groin, or sucking at him in the most lewd, intimate, wonderful way. He tugged Goodsir back a little and Goodsir’s cock hung heavy and hard between his legs, dripping wetness onto his thigh. 

“Get hold of yourself,” Collins said, thumbs stroking Goodsir's spread arse. “You can finish on my tongue.”

“Henry, please,” Goodsir whispered, but his hand was already tight around his leaking cock. He didn’t know what he begged for; the very thought of spending with Henry’s tongue inside him had driven all sense from his mind. Henry moaned against him, breath hot, his mouth warm and wet. He hooked a finger inside Goodsir, pressing down and in and followed it with his tongue and that final assault on his senses ended him. Goodsir’s cock jerked hard in his hand as he spent, his whole body shaking, helpless sounds escaping from him hard as he tried to contain them. And then Henry had his arms around him, holding him steady and murmuring nonsense to him until he returned to himself and was able to turn around and give in to kisses and caresses and the soft look in Henry's eyes.


	4. 100 words of drugging your love interest

Mr Goodsir drew the curtain to his tent aside and found Mr Collins waiting for him there. 

“It’s bad today,” Collins said. He did not have to explain further and Goodsir could see the effort it cost him to admit even that. 

“Come in,” he said, standing aside, and drawing the curtain tight behind them. 

“Your disordered thoughts persist?” Mr Goodsir said. 

“I try all the time to remember that it is a miracle I am alive, that we still have hope of rescue,” Collins said, sitting down. He looked at his hands. “But these thoughts intrude, against my best intentions. The...the deaths, Harry. They press upon me.”

Goodsir sat down beside Mr Collins and took one of his work roughened hands. “I know you suffer, and I’m sorry for it,” Goodsir said. 

“I sometimes think that letting Billy Orren die has cursed us all,” Collins said in a low voice, his hand clenching in Goodsir’s. “If I had been allowed to try for him, Harry, I believe I would have saved him.”

“But you cannot blame yourself for that. The cold would have killed you both,” Goodsir said. 

“Not I, not so quickly,” Collins said. He gave a short laugh. “There’s more than enough of me to survive a plunge.”

“Bigger men than you have succumbed to exposure,” Goodsir said. “Henry, believe me. I have read of experiments, and interestingly...oh, well.” He stopped himself from giving poor Henry a lecture on the causes of hypothermia. “In any case, Billy had not your strength or size. He could not have survived even if you had followed him in directly.”

Collins was silent. After a moment, he let himself rest his head on Goodsir’s shoulder. 

“If I could only stop my brain,” he murmured. “Even for an hour.”

“That is beyond my ability,” Goodsir said, resting his cheek for a moment on Henry’s hair. “But, perhaps I can distract it for a while.” Releasing Collins’ hand, he stood and opened his medicine chest. 

“Not purging,” Collins said quickly.

“Of course not,” Goodsir said. He held a stoppered bottle aloft. “Morphine.” He had precious little remaining, but the men were disinclined to clamour for it in any case for fear of the hypodermic needle. Coca wine was much more popular. 

Goodsir opened his little needle kit and Collins swallowed. 

“Can you bear it?” Goodsir asked. Collins nodded, but his eyes were wide. 

“I will tell Captain Crozier that you must remain with me while it takes effect,” Goodsir said, quick fingers assembling the kit. “It can make for erratic behaviour.” 

He saw Collins settled comfortably on the camp bed, the sleeve on his right arm rolled up. “Don’t look at the needle,” Goodsir said. “Look at me, Henry.”

Henry raised his eyes to Goodsir’s. His chest rose and fell, but he held still as Goodsir slid the needle into his arm. A heartbeat and it was done. 

Harry watched as the euphoria took Collins. His cheeks flushed and eyes darkened, and he let out a great sigh. “God damn my soul,” he swore, a smile spreading across his face. He fell back against the bed. “Kiss me Harry, my love,” he said next, and loudly. Goodsir hushed him.

“You have quieted my mind; now you must quiet my mouth,” Collins said with a chuckle, and Goodsir could do nothing but oblige.


	5. 100 words of unlikely rescues

Mr Collins found Mr Goodsir at last, on the upper deck of the HMS Enterprise, observing sea birds with an eye-glass borrowed from the Captain of their rescue ship himself.

"Harry, here you are," Collins said, almost loathe to interrupt him. 

Goodsir looked around at him. "Do the surgeons need more assistance?" he asked. "Only they assured me that the worst cases were doing much better."

"Indeed Henry Peglar was up on his feet a half-hour ago," Collins said. "And Mr Bridgens was walking him up and down the mess room even as I came to find you."

"That is wonderful to hear," Goodsir said, and smiled. He looked so youthful, Collins thought, having shaved off his beard and shorn back his hair. He wasn't sure if he didn't miss Harry's beard. 

"So who wants me?" Goodsir said. Even a haircut could not quite contain his wild curls which were all on end in the North Sea breeze, and Collins could not help but lift a hand to push his hair out of his eyes.

"I want you," he said quietly, and Goodsir's eyes softened. 

"You have me," he said.

Collins cast a look around, and deeming it safe, kissed Goodsir on his forehead, his nose, and lastly on the mouth. 

"I'll have you a damned sight more often when we have our shared lodgings," he said, and relished the flush that rose to Goodsir's face. His dear Harry. That his second chance at life would be filled with anatomy books and medicine and a kind, clever man who blushed like a maid but fucked like a sailor, was a delight Collins could never have imagined in a dozen lifetimes.


	6. 100 words of spooning

Goodsir dreamt the monstrous bear had him. It held him down with its great paw, breathing hot against the nape of his neck. And Goodsir in his despair could not but feel it was a better end than any of the others he had witnessed.

But as he surfaced from sleep, he found the great bear remained.

"Harry," Henry Collins murmured, breath warm against his neck. "Forgive me. I could not let you be alone, not after Mr Morfin..."

Goodsir took in a gasp of breath that was almost a sob and wrapped his hand around the arm which encircled him.

"Harry my dear," Henry said. "You could have done nothing more for him."

Goodsir turned in his arms and gave himself up to the comfort of Henry's embrace, resting his forehead against Henry's cheek and feeling the rough scrub of his stubble on his skin.

"It is all very hard," Goodsir managed.

Henry shifted downwards to kiss his mouth gently and Goodsir felt the ache at his centre ease a little at the touch. They had made their confessions to each other only a handful of days before: Henry was his, he had said, body and soul; Goodsir his constant and his comfort. Goodsir had joyfully admitted to the same. He hoped this shining secret, folded so close against his heart, could allow them to endure what was to come.


End file.
